


No Rest For The Wicked

by ArliahTheBard (arliah)



Series: The Fury of Stars [1]
Category: Blades of Light and Shadow (Visual Novel)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Mild Gore, i done been lazy this was supposed to be posted months ago
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arliah/pseuds/ArliahTheBard
Summary: After getting out of Deadwood, Idunna and her companions meet a new friend who offers them shelter from a storm.
Relationships: Tyril Starfury/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Fury of Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1775449
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	No Rest For The Wicked

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place somewhere between chapters 9 and 10 of Blades of Light and Shadow Book 1. All characters belong to Pixelberry except for the ones who came to me at 3 in the morning.

“Dear heavens, it really is you,” said the frail-looking woman, genuine shock visible on her face. She looked to be a couple of years past her twentieth name day, her muddy and disheveled hair spilling on both sides of her face. After putting down the basket she was carrying, she wiped her hands clean on the hem of her apron. Despite her appearance, she pushed Idunna and Mal out of the way and threw herself at Tyril, wrapping her arms around him. The mage gasped, surprised by the sudden contact. He shot Idunna an apologetic glance, to which she responded with a grin. She was quite amused. Arms hovering, frozen on either side, Tyril looked to his companions for help.

“Look at you, elf boy. You’ve got yourself an admirer.” Mal wasted no time showing how much he enjoyed the display. He put his daggers away before walking towards Idunna and clapping her on the back. “Gotta say, I didn’t take you for a player.”

Idunna tensed up, her face momentarily twisted in discomfort at Mal’s playful teasing. She surmised it was directed at her, not Tyril. It was no secret that she had been spending more time with Tyril than with anyone else in the group and it seemed like they had already formed their own conclusions about the nature of their relationship. Relieved that Tyril didn’t notice her reaction, Idunna elbowed Mal on the side as Imtura joined the two of them.

“Careful. Those pointy things on his armor almost cost me an eye during battle,” said Imtura, rubbing a fading bruise on her cheek.

The girl finally let go of Tyril, taking both of his hands in hers, her eyes fresh with tears. Even after he’d had a good look at her, Tyril still had no idea who this person was, nor what business she had with him. Once more, he looked at each of his companions questioningly. None of them knew who the stranger was either.

“Forgive me,” she said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment after realizing what she’d done. She proceeded to introduce herself while straightening her dress. “My name is Lyra. My ma and I run a small inn nearby. Just a little beyond that, see?” She pointed towards the end of the road, to a hill that was but a mound of dirt in contrast to the towering height of Undermount that loomed in the distance.

“That doesn’t explain why you recognized me.” Tyril’s hand rested loosely on the hilt of his sword. Nia chuckled at the sour expression on his face, clearly still reeling from the shock of their encounter. She pushed him aside and smiled brightly at Lyra.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyra.” Nia shook her hand, rubbing the back of her palm soothingly. “How do you know our friend Tyril?”

“I was there when it happened! I was hiding, you see, but I saw the whole thing!” Lyra recalled the events that happened in Port Parnassus, and the untimely demise of the mayor. She and her mother were servants at the mayor’s house and they wasted no time getting out of the city to start anew. “I was following the mayor that day and I hid behind the barrels when the fight broke out.” She turned towards Tyril once more, her eyes once more starting to well up. “I didn’t think it was possible but you freed us from that monster.”

Idunna listened intently as Lyra described in detail what had transpired that day from the eyes of a spectator. Embellishments had been added but she couldn’t help but think how it all seemed like forever ago. What was supposed to be a simple job, a chance to finally go out and see the world with her brother, had upturned their lives. This could have been the adventure she and Kade had been hoping for ever since they were children, but Idunna couldn’t find it in herself to rejoice. Not without her brother by her side.

She watched as Lyra talked animatedly to her friends, arms flailing as she gestured wildly to their amusement. Lyra was about their age. And she told the story with as much gusto as Kade told her the tales he had overheard from the tavern patrons, traveling merchants, treasure hunters, or even the regular passers-by. One day, they were going to make their own tales, that was her promise to him. Her chest tightened at the reminder of his absence. She reached into her purse and squeezed the cloth that was wrapped around the shard where he was currently trapped. She looked for her brother’s warmth and guidance but there was none.

In the middle of Lyra’s reenactment of the mayor’s decapitation, thunder boomed and not long after that, huge droplets of rain started pouring. They all scrambled towards the nearest tree but it provided little protection from the onslaught of the now heavy rain.

“We need to find shelter. I just cleaned my fur!” said Threep, poking his head out of Idunna’s bag. Lyra stared wildly at the nesper but she seemed rather unfazed by him.

“I swear, if one of you suggests setting up camp back in Deadwood again, I’m leaving.” Imtura adjusted her pauldron snuggly around her shoulders but she soon realized her efforts were futile.

“Deadwood? What were you doing there of all places?” asked Lyra. The group exchanged glances and Lyra was none the wiser. Mal cleared his throat.

“Typical mercenary business. Stuffy noble from Undermout wanted something,” he looked at Tyril as he said this, and the elf clenched his jaw in irritation. “We get it for them for a price. You know how it goes.”

“Right,” Lyra said. She jumped out of their hiding place under the tree as an idea came to her, splattering mud at the others as soon as her boots hit the ground. “It’s a bit out of the way but if you’re headed for Undermount, you’re welcome to stay at the inn…at least until the storm passes!” A mortified Threep desperately tried to wipe the mud off of him but to no success. “I’m sorry,” said Lyra, biting her lower lip. “I’ll help clean you up when we get there.”

They were supposed to stay off the roads so as not to attract any attention from the Shadow Court. But they were exhausted. Besides, it was no use setting up camp in this weather. Mal was the one who stepped up to Lyra.

“Do you have any ale?”

* * *

After a few minutes of wading through mud, they were finally standing in front of the inn. Imtura hurriedly reached for the door, desperate for the warmth that teased them from the other side, only for it to be pushed shut by Lyra, worry painted all over her face.

“Listen,” she started, gesturing for them to huddle close to each other as if to reveal a secret. “My ma’s not doing so well,” she mumbled. She fiddled with the hem of her apron without looking at the group. “She gets angry sometimes but she’s a good person, I promise! She’s just been having a rough time ever since my pa and my sister…disappeared.” Nia closed the distance between her and Lyra and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Idunna caught the hesitation at that last word.

“Don’t worry about it, Lyra. We won’t cause any trouble,” the priestess reassured her. Nia signaled for her companions to chime in.

“We’ll behave and get out of her way, I’ll make sure of it.” Mal puffed out his chest. Everyone else snorted in unison, including Lyra.

“Even in Port Parnassus,” Lyra addresses Mal, “tales of your exploits were commonplace in every tavern. How can they not be when you’re the one responsible for spreading them?” Mal scratched the back of his head, a sheepish grin on his face. “And from what I’ve heard about you, Mal, I think you’re going to be my ma’s biggest problem today,” she said, winking at the rogue.

* * *

There was nothing noteworthy about the inn. Thankfully, it was much less crowded than the ones Idunna had been to. In this instance, though, this was preferable given the circumstances. Perhaps the part that stood out the most were the various ornaments used for divination. Scrying crystals were randomly placed on top of the bar and brightly-colored fortune charms hung on every doorway and above the tables. Idunna noticed the faint smell of jasmine incense in the air, likely coming from the other side of the door behind the bar. She walked towards the kitchen where she saw an elderly woman, somewhere around her fifties, if she had to guess. Maybe younger, but the weariness in her eyes and the strain in her movements coupled with the perpetually sour expression on her face made her seem much older. The woman reminded her of Madame Vetra, the neighboring farm owner’s wife from Riverbend who chased her and Kade out of their land whenever she caught them stealing their potatoes when they were kids. She had that look about her that made it seem like she was going to spontaneously catch fire any minute.

“Ma!” Lyra rushed past Idunna and snatched the small crate from the old woman. “I told you I will take care of that. It’s bad for your back.” Lyra moved with urgency as she picked up crate after crate and in a matter of seconds, all of them were stacked on top of each other in a neat pile. “Let’s go, I want you to meet some folks.”

Mal and Imtura, who were already having drinks at the bar, stood up to meet Lyra’s mother as she walked out of the kitchen. A few steps from the entrance to the inn, Tyril kept his distance while Nia was more than enthusiastic in shaking the old woman’s hand.

“You’ve got a lovely inn. We met Lyra just outside of Deadwood and she led us here. Thank you for letting us stay,” said Nia. Idunna was yet to find someone who could resist Nia’s bright disposition whenever she asked anyone for a favor. Thankfully, Lyra’s mother was not immune to the priestess’ charms. She responded with a soft grumble that sounded more or less like agreement before pulling her hand away.

“This is my ma, Wynne,” said Lyra before pointing at Tyril’s direction. “Look, Ma. He’s the one who killed that bastard in Port Parnassus.” Lyra wrapped an arm around her mother’s shoulder while she ushered her towards Tyril.

“We appreciate your hospitality.” The mage forced a weak smile and gave them a curt nod before heading for the bar.

* * *

Tyril was perfectly aware of how he came across to other people. But he’d like to think he had never been mean for no reason at all. Especially not after meeting Idunna. He thought she was just another arrogant, self-entitled elf who demanded merit where none was due. In his defense, he had only met a handful of elves who had proved him wrong. Was he harsh in his judgment of his people? Or was Idunna simply not like the elves he knew? Or anyone else, for that matter. He was more inclined to believe the latter. His head jerked in the direction of Lyra and her mother, their hushed whispers shaking him out of his own thoughts.

“What were you thinking, bringing all these hooligans here, girl?” Wynne whispered to her daughter. “And how many times do I have to tell you to stay far away from that cursed forest?”

Though they tried to hide it, Tyril noticed Wynne’s tight grip on Lyra’s arms, making her wince quietly in pain. His own fist tightened in anger. This was all he could do to keep himself from intervening. Idunna and Nia were helping Threep dry off while Mal was regaling Imtura with yet another one of his tales while the latter pretended to listen. The one with the countess? Or was it the duke? Tyril had lost track. He tuned back in to Lyra and her mother.

“I wanted to pick some mushrooms. I was going to make your favorite stew. Pa’s recipe!” Lyra explained. She broke free of her mother’s grip to reach for the basket filled with Seranui mushrooms, very rare, especially in these parts. She must have skirted the edge of the forest looking for them.

Wynne slapped Lyra’s hand, making her drop the basket.

“To hell with your stew! I’m not some invalid for you to take care of, you hear?” Wynne stepped even closer to Lyra, crushing some of the mushrooms under her boots. “You think I’m so useless without your Pa, don’t you?”

“I was just trying to-”

“You think this, right here, you trying to take your sister’s place will make me stop grieving her? You think helping me around the inn will make me stop mourning the loss of your father? Or how those men dragged the two of them away in the middle of the night?” Wynne grabbed Lyra by the shoulders. Desperate not to draw attention to themselves, Lyra could do nothing but sob quietly. “You weren’t there, were you? You were more interested in gallivanting wherever you pleased.” Wynne raised her hand to strike Lyra and Tyril jumped out of his seat and rushed towards them but Idunna beat him to it.

“Enough!” Idunna’s voice was forceful and her gaze were icy daggers, staring Wynne down. The old woman walked to the back room, muttering under her breath.

“Are you alright, Lyra?” Nia caught a glimpse of Lyra’s arms, now exposed from when her mother pulled on her sleeves while she grabbed her. Patches of blue, brown, and purple were peppered all over them, some bruises older than the others. Worry painted her face and she felt herself tear up. “I can help you. Give me your-”

“I’m fine, Nia,” Lyra insisted as she pulled her arm away. “Ma’s just having a bad day.” Lyra dragged her sleeves back down before wiping the tears off her face with them.

“Oh yeah? And exactly how many bad days does she have in a week?” Idunna knew she was overstepping. She let out a sigh in surrender and the tense expression on her face was replaced with concern. “Lyra, I know some good folks in Riverbend who would be more than willing to take you in. In fact, I think Simoun would-,” her voice trailed off as Lyra shook her head in refusal, her cheery disposition returning to her face.

“I swear she’s not always like this. These bruises were from my tree climbing injuries.”

Idunna and Nia glanced at each other, unsure what to make of the situation.

“Just say the word, kid. We’ll whisk you away from here,” said Mal who had finally caught up to what had just happened.

“I’ll have you know that I am an adult.” Lyra poised herself, knuckles on either side of her hips. “And I know better than to let myself be whisked away by a man who calls himself ‘Mal the Magnificent’.” She let out a chuckle that melted the tension away. “Come, let me show you to your rooms so you can change out of your wet clothes and get some rest before supper.”

* * *

From upstairs, Idunna could hear the sound of raucous laughter coming from below. More customers had arrived. She was getting dressed after her warm bath when she heard a knock on her door.

“Idunna? It’s Lyra,” said the familiar, sweet voice on the other side.

Hair still damp, Idunna crossed the room to let her in. Some of Lyra’s hair was sticking to her sweaty forehead and her clothes were covered in soot. When she noticed Idunna looking at her, she wiped her brow clean.

“I just came to get you for supper. Ma’s locked herself in her room and the customers started coming in droves, so I took over the kitchen duties for a bit,” she said. Lyra’s face lit up when she saw Idunna’s long, black hair free from its usual messy bun. “Oh, you have such lovely hair! I didn’t notice it before, it being in a bun and covered in mud. May I?” She offered to take the hair brush out of Idunna’s hand. Idunna handed it to her with a smile and Lyra motioned for her to take a seat in front of the mirror. “Please let me braid your hair. I used to do it for my sister all the time.”

“Go for it. Be warned, though. I can never manage to keep it neat for very long.” Idunna relaxed as Lyra brushed her hair in gentle strokes. It reminded her of the times when Simoun did his best to keep it in place and she always made fun of him for somehow making it even messier than before. He eventually gave up trying, settling to just scratch his head in disbelief every time Idunna came home with twigs sticking out of her hair. “What was your sister like?” she asked.

Lyra paused and Idunna noticed her knuckles going white from how tightly she gripped the hairbrush.

“I’m sorry. It’s alright if you don’t wish to answer, I was just-”

“No, it’s alright. It’s just…I’ve never been able to talk to anyone about her or my father ever since they disappeared.” Lyra continued her gentle movements, parting Idunna’s hair carefully. “It’s like I’m starting to forget them already. That must sound awful.”

“It doesn’t.”

“My sister had long hair like yours, but she had golden hair like mine,” she said as she started weaving Idunna’s hair into a loose braid. “She worked all day as a servant at the mayor’s house and then worked as a barmaid at night. Every morning, she’d ask me to braid her hair. She could never do it on her own.” Idunna saw her smiling at the memory of her sister and she couldn’t help but smile, too. “She wanted to save enough money so we could get out of Port Parnassus and get our own inn. Eventually she and our father did just that, but my ma wanted to stay there. ‘Too risky to start a business,’ she said.”

“She sounds like a good sister.”

“The best. She used to sneak out treats from the mayor’s house, said no one was going to miss them ‘cause there was always too much. They would all end up in the garbage at the end of the day anyway.” Lyra continued to switch between brushing the end of Idunna’s hair while making sure the braids stayed in place. Then, much like the clouds outside, Lyra’s expression darkened. Her voice dropped but her hands remained gentle.

“One night, some of the mayor’s guards recognized her while she was working in the tavern, so they followed her home,” said Lyra. Idunna listened intently, although she already had a couple of guesses as to where the story was going. “Pa interfered when they were insisting that she came back with them to their barracks. Ma said they beat him to a pulp and dragged the two of them away. We never saw them again.

“The townspeople, they liked to talk. There were horror stories of their employees disappearing without a trace or worse, ending up butchered and left to rot in alleyways. It has been a little over two years and we never heard from them again.”

“I’m sorry, Lyra.” Idunna reached back to squeeze Lyra’s hand. Lyra held onto her for a few seconds before stepping back, her features visibly relaxing.

“All done,” she said with a cheery smile.

Idunna rose from her seat and turned around to see her finished look. She had never had her hair look this pretty before. Growing up with Kade in Simoun’s care, she never had anyone to talk to about how she should wear her hair nor if she looked good in her clothes. More often than not, she was was covered in mud, her clothes torn and tattered from another day of adventuring with Kade, well, as far as the outskirts of Riverbend, that is. That was how she learned how to sew. Simoun’s hands were not built for threading needles. She spun, letting her braided hair fly before settling it over her shoulder. She thanked Lyra and gave her a quick hug before they both headed downstairs.

“Ah, just as I thought,” Lyra said when they reached the bar. “Sir Tyril can’t keep his eyes off of you, look. And he’s smiling, too!”

“You say that like he never smiles at all,” said Idunna, rolling her eyes. Tyril never left a good first impression. People were always quick to dismiss him as rude or arrogant. It’s not that there was no reason to feel that way about Tyril. After all, Idunna didn’t have the most pleasant introduction with the mage, either. It took weeks of traveling together before he starting tearing down his walls. And even then, most of his companions still thought him to be too guarded. But they knew not of his tenderness. Idunna had felt it on his lips whenever he whispered her name in between their kisses. Nor of the gentleness in his touch whenever it found her skin.

“Only when he’s looking at you, then,” Lyra said, throwing her a side glance as if she was reading her thoughts. The young woman giggled before heading back to the kitchen.

“Let me know if you need any help,” Idunna shouted after her. Lyra signaled for her to go to her friends. Looking around, Idunna noticed the inn was far livelier. In a well-lit corner stood a bard singing an ode to King Xaius and the fall of the elven empire. “Not enough flair, huh, Kade?” she whispered to herself. The sound of the heavy rain was muffled by the loud chatter of the customers who have come to take refuge for the night. It was warm enough inside the inn that she even almost forgot about the storm. Across the room, Tyril was sat with Mal, Nia, and Threep. Idunna took the seat beside him.

“I’ve never seen you wear your hair like that,” he said. He brushed a few loose strands out of her face and Idunna’s cheeks burned up. “It suits you.”

“I look good in anything,” said Idunna in a playful voice. Tyril tried and failed to hide a chuckle.

“That you do.”

“Hey, at least wait ‘til after dinner. You’re both so sickeningly sweet, you’re spoiling my appetite,” said Imtura as she approached their table. She had apparently befriended a few of the inn’s customers. She tucked a bulky pouch of coins into her pocket before joining them. Her winnings from a drinking match.

“Who’s the poor fool that’s paying for our food this time?” Idunna glanced in the direction Imtura had come from, only to see three men passed out drunk. One of them was lying face first on the ground. “Correction, poor fools.”

“A bunch of merchants. Guess we’re having a feast tonight! Drinks on me!” Her voice thundered across the room, making Threep jump out of his resting place on Nia’s lap.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake keep it down, will you?” he said.

“You can pick any fish you like, nesper. I’ll even get you the biggest, juiciest one,” said Imtura, patting her hips to make the coins jangle.

“Then, by all means, be as loud as you want.” Threep stretched his legs out then walked in a lazy circle before lying back down.

“Well, I think Tyril and Idunna are perfect for each other.” Nia continued to brush Threep’s fur with her hands as he softly purred. She turned her attention to the two elves. “The way Tyril’s face softens when he looks at Idunna is adorable.” Tyril hid behind his drink as he downed the rest of it in a single gulp.

“Priestess, you think everything is adorable,” said Mal before biting into an apple.

“I do not.”

“You said one of the drakna that almost killed us was ‘kind of cute’. _While_ it was attacking us.” Mal raised his hand to signal the barkeep to bring them more ale. He then stood up and walked around the table to hand each one a fresh tankard.

“Did you see their huge, pink eyes? Or the way their mandibles quivered? They were kind of adorable.” Nia took a small sip of her drink and the bitter aftertaste of the ale made her face twist in disgust.

“I’m deeply sorry for not noticing their mandibles, priestess.” Mal placed a hand on his chest, his voice had the tone of affected remorse. “I was too busy trying not to get stabbed by them!”

“I take it back,” said Imtura as she finished her drink. “Let’s talk about Idunna and Tyril again. Just please shut up about those damn bugs.” She rubbed her arms as a shiver crept up her spine but it wasn’t enough to wash off the crawling sensation on her skin. She turned to Nia who hadn’t touched her drink since that first sip. “You gonna drink that?”

“Oh no, please take it,” Nia said as she pushed the tankard towards Imtura.

* * *

As the night went on so did their conversations, each one of them sharing their takeaways from their time in Deadwood. When their cups were empty, Tyril stood up to get more drinks. The barkeep had his hands full with all the obnoxious drunks demanding his attention, so he decided to wait. As he did, he looked back at his table.

He still wasn’t used to the boisterous company he had been keeping of late. And he was sure it would take longer to get used to some of them as he watched Mal perform a jig across the room. Nia he could live with. He could even see the two of them being friends even after their mission was over. His admiration for the priestess’ spirit and compassion only grew with every day he spent with her. Imtura may have claimed her distaste for leading the Flotilla, but Tyril could easily recognize a good leader when he saw one. He’d had a lifetime’s worth of encounters with terrible ones in Undermount: the power-hungry, selfish nobles who chose to cling onto their old glory rather than carve a new, more honorable path. Imtura was none of those things. She had already earned the respect of her crew on her own and she always looked out for them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Idunna studying him. He gave her a smile that she returned. In these trials he had taken upon himself to see through, Idunna was the single light that had kept his heart true, a safe haven from a raging tempest. But she was a storm on her own, too. Just as strong and equally unwavering.

A sudden, overwhelming scent of incense interrupted Tyril’s thoughts. It was once again coming from within the room near the back of the bar, the door to which was left slightly ajar. Curious, Tyril walked over and peeked through the gap. There he saw Lyra’s mother, eyes closed, one hand reaching out to the ceiling and the other held close to her chest. She was chanting in a language that sounded foreign, definitely not something Tyril recognized. For all he knew, it could be gibberish.

“She’s doing her incantations.” Lyra’s voice made him jump out of his hiding place. He was more conscious of his surroundings than to let her sneak up on him like that, but the alcohol was starting to get to him. “Twice a day, that was the order of the seer.” Lyra explained that the incantations were supposed to help them bring her sister and father back.

Tyril looked at her questioningly. He had heard of various spells that could be performed by seers and mages. But Wynne was quite obviously neither of those. He would have been able to detect traces of her magic otherwise.

“She always goes to this town outside of Whitetower where she bought all this stuff.” She gestured towards the hanging charms, crystals big and small, brightly colored and glinting in the light of the hanging lanterns. “I’m certain they’re all fake but I don’t have the heart to take this from her. This is the only way she could cope.”

“Why do you let your mother grieve but not yourself?” he asked.

“I simply do not have that luxury. Right now, I’m all she has. I wasn’t here for her before.” Lyra looked at her mother with a solemn expression. “If you could go back in time and do things differently, would you do it?”

“I know not of the grief in your heart, Lyra, but ask any elf from Undermount and you’ll know that we are a people who shall forever live with loss etched deep in ours. Thousands of years deep.” Tyril placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Even with all the magic in the world, I know one thing for certain. There is no going back. The best you can do is move forward and hope you fare better than last time.” With that, he left Lyra to her thoughts and went back to the bar.

* * *

Once they had finished their refills, the group started to disperse. Mal and Imtura walked over to the other customers who were more than curious about a band of adventurers and the tales they had to tell. Nia and Threep turned in early, leaving Tyril and Idunna alone in their table.

“What’s next for you, when all of this is over?” Tyril asked. Drink in hand, Idunna shifted in her seat to face him, surprised by his sudden interest in what comes after their mission.

“Who knows?” she said. “In my head, I’ve seen about a hundred different ways we don’t get out of this alive.” She downed the remaining half of what she could only assume was murky groundwater based on what it tasted like and her eyes watered. It was absolute swill and she could have sworn the color changed every time the barkeep refilled their drinks. Still, it got the job done.

“Humor me. Let’s say we do. What, then?”

“Best case scenario, Kade and I become traveling minstrels, entertaining all of Morella with our tales of adventure and misadventure,” she said. It was meant as a joke but the thought of seeing her brother again filled her with hope. “I assume you’ll be going back to Undermount, then?”

Tyril fell silent in consideration. Had Idunna made that assumption several nights ago, there wouldn’t have been this much doubt in his heart. The uncertainty wasn’t born out of fear for his own life, no. He had already made peace with the possibility of dying trying to complete his task. If he was fortunate enough to survive, he was going to help regain his house’s former glory. That meant going back home, back to the way things were. To a life without Idunna.

“Our people need to move on, myself more so than others. We’ve been isolated from the rest of the world for far too long and it has given us a false sense of invincibility.” He brushed his hand on her cheek. “So yes, going back to Undermount would be the logical first step. That was the plan.”

Idunna leaned into his touch, her lips grazing his palm. She could always count on his warmth. She took his hand in both of hers, drawing shapeless figures on his calloused, battle-worn skin.

“Was?” she asked.

“Was.”

Their moment was disturbed by the sound of the door flying open, startling everyone inside the inn. Wynne came running out of her room towards the hooded figure who had just come in. Lyra, too, came out of the kitchen to see what the commotion was about. Idunna noticed the recognition in Wynne’s eyes and the disgust in Lyra’s.

“Seer Solomon, to what do we owe the pleasure?” Lyra said but her voice was defiant. Tyril recalled their earlier conversation about a seer that her mother frequented, and it was clear Lyra bore no respect for him. Without moving another inch, Lyra watched as her mother got down on one knee to kiss the seer’s ring. The man unfastened his hooded cape, revealing his burly frame and hair that went below his shoulders, not exactly what anyone would guess a seer looked like. Solomon tossed his coat on top of a barstool before placing his hand on Wynne’s head, his palm nearly encompassing the top of it. Solomon closed his eyes in concentration, chanting in the language Tyril assumed was the same as what Wynne was chanting in earlier that evening.

“Heavens bless you, sister.” Solomon helped Wynne up before placing his hands on either side of her. “I’m afraid I require your hospitality. I’ve no shelter from the storm,” said the seer. “Lyra, my dear, would you be so kind as to bring me something warm to drink?” Lyra crossed her hands on her chest and turned her attention to her mother, who was still smitten by their sudden visitor. When Wynne noticed that Lyra hadn’t moved from her spot, her face turned sour.

“Hurry up, you brat! Get the top shelf ale, you hear? None of that common swill we serve,” Wynne demanded. A few of the customers looked up at her remark but went back to their business right away, too inebriated to process anything. The shrill sound of Wynne’s voice turned syrup sweet when she faced Solomon once again. “Have a seat. Please let me get you something to eat.”

Tyril couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something magnetic about the seer, something familiar. It was odd enough since he didn’t know many humans. If he had met Solomon before, it would have been impossible to forget him. His robes were plain but made of expensive silk. Around his neck were chains adorned with large beads and crystals. He had a laugh that almost shook the earth but it never quite reached his eyes. Solomon had a mild mannerism in complete contrast with his posture, which could only be compared to that of a brute. There were no telltale signs of him being a practitioner of magic. At least none that Tyril was aware of.

“Tyril?” Idunna must have noticed the concern in his eyes. “Is everything all right?”

Regardless of what Tyril thought of Solomon, it wasn’t his place to do anything about it, especially not when he was basing everything on instincts alone. He brushed the feeling off but he knew Idunna could sense it, too. And if there was anyone he could trust with this knowledge, it was her.

“I’m almost certain that man is a pawn of the Shadow Court.


End file.
